A Study in Fur
by RavesTheWriter
Summary: John finds a cat on his way home from the clinic, and brings it back to the flat. John being John, Sherlock being Sherlock. Throw in a cat, then sit back and watch the fun.


I know the 'a study in' title is overused but whatever. Right so this is the first part, and I do have a bit of the next part done but I haven't done much writing lately so this is either going to encourage me to finish it or this will be the end of it.

(Day one)

John shivered as he shuffled his way back to 221b. London had turned bitterly cold in the last few days, and he was regretting not bringing gloves. He was also regretting not getting a taxi home from the surgery, but he was stubborn and damned if he was going to waste money like Sherlock did on cabs. Regardless of his apparent free reign of Sherlock's bank card.  
_Speak of the devil._ John thought as his phone went off in his pocket. He cursed as his cold fingers failed to properly grasp his phone, and it dropped onto the sidewalk. He knelt to retrieve it, wincing as he looked it over for damage, when he caught a noise in the alleyway a few steps to his left. He stood cautiously, cocking his head to the side to hear better, Sherlock's text forgotten.

He poked his head around the wall, but the alley was deserted aside from rubbish bins and various bits of loose litter. He could still hear the faint noises and he fought to place a name to them. Taking a few hesitant steps into the alley he caught a tiny flash of movement by an overturned cardboard box. Obviously an animal then, no unexpected snipers. His phone chimed again. John rolled his eyes and was about to turn away but before he could, he heard the most pitiful mewing noise coming from the box. He hesitated. He heard the noise again, and let curiosity get the best of him. He knelt beside the box, and tilted part of the cardboard to get a better look.

Inside, cowered in the corner was a small Siamese cat. It was shivering violently, and looking at John with clear blue eyes.  
"Hey there." He murmured, and the cat gave another pitiful meow. John felt sympathy for the little thing. He noticed that the cat was wearing a collar. A pet then, not used to being outside, so it was either abandoned or accidentally got loose. Vaguely he wondered what he should do. He was cold and tired, so wandering around to find the nearest pet shelter was not the most appealing idea, but his stomach clenched at the thought of leaving the poor cat in the alleyway.  
"Here kitty, you must be freezing." He reached out to give a tentative pat. The cat flinched at the movement, but once it felt Johns slightly warmer hands on its back (god it really was freezing) it moved closer. He was weighing the idea of going around to the few houses nearby when his phone went off again. Scratching the cat between the ears he checked his messages.

**We're out of Vaseline. SH**

John didn't want to know.

**Where are you? SH**

**Are you ignoring me because of what I did to the toaster? SH**

He cringed at that, feeling the usual wave of annoyed fondness that Sherlock usually brought on. It was quite infuriating really. He sighed and hit reply.

**No. You will be buying a new toaster though I hope you realise that. I'll be home in a few minutes. JW**

He hit send and startled when the cat bumped at his hand.  
"Right. What to do with you." It let out a sad meow and flicked its blue eyes at John. He was reminded of Sherlock's pouty expression at John's refusal to put up with human body parts in the bathtub. He shook himself, knowing that he was going to bring the creature home. John wondered what Sherlock would say. He considered all the things he put up with, and decided that Sherlock could deal with a cat for the night. It would die cold and alone in the alley otherwise. At least, that's what he told himself as he gently lifted the cat up and tucked it into his jacket. He didn't bother to hide his grin when the cat started to purr as it cuddled into the warmth of John's chest.

Mrs. Hudson was entering the flat as John arrived. He tried not to look guilty as he adjusted his jacket and wondered if he could get away with sneaking the cat past her. Animals hadn't been part of the agreement, but considering the other awful things residing in the flat at the moment, he couldn't help thinking a cat would hardly be offensive.  
"Awfully cold isn't it? You really should wear a scarf you know." She held the door open for him, and he caught her gaze lingering at the bulge in the chest area of his coat. Her eyebrows rose and he sighed.  
"Cat." He said preparing to defend his actions, undoing his jacket slightly and letting the Siamese's head pop out.  
"Found it in an alley freezing to death. I thought I might, you know, bring it back here and try to, um…" But any more explanation was unnecessary because Mrs. Hudson had already moved closer and started cooing and rubbing at the cats head.  
"Oh the poor little darling! How good of you. I used to have a cat you know, died before you and Sherlock moved in. Do you think Sherlock will mind?"  
John flinched inwardly, quickly loosing his 'if-you-can-keep-body-parts-in-the-fridge-I-can-have-a-cat" attitude.  
"Hey Mrs. Hudson, I don't suppose you'd like to keep it at yours? Just for a bit?"  
"Goodness no, far too much to do already!" She exclaimed, giving the cat a final scratch between the ears.  
"Good luck." She called over her shoulder heading into her own flat.

John looked up the stairs with a slight pang of dread. How would Sherlock react? He did his jacket back up to hide the cat again, mentally laughing at himself at this sorry attempt to hide anything from Sherlock Holmes.

He opened the door, half expecting Sherlock to jump at him out of nowhere, knowing about the cat in Johns jacket (because of something ridiculous like the weight or sound of John's footsteps on the stairs of course) and tell him off. John glanced around the empty living room, trying to gage where Sherlock was. If he was lucky, maybe he could sneak the cat up to his own room. Christ man, you're a solider. He thought to himself, taking a steadying breath.  
"Sherlock?" he called cautiously.  
"Kitchen." Came the deep baritone reply. Kitchen, that was good. Probably hunched over an experiment that John would never understand.  
"We're out of Vaseline."  
"Yes, I got the text." The cat started to move inside his jacket. Maybe he would be lucky after all.  
"I'm going to have a shower, are you eating tonight? I'll make supper."  
There was a grunt from the kitchen that was neither affirmative nor negative so John took it as a 'You could persuade me.'  
"Right, down in a bit then." He tried not to bolt up the stairs into his room.

Once safely inside, John eased the cat out of his jacket and placed it on his bed. It stood nervously, sniffing and twitching its tail. John looked closer at the collar. No tags. He frowned. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. He gave the cat a final rub along it's spine.  
"Well. This is my room, I guess. Please don't make too much of a mess. You probably have fleas or something but what the hell. Sleep. Warm up. I'll see if I can get you home tomorrow." The cat stood on John's bed, now looking up at him with an expression that was almost boredom. He was struck again by the similarity to Sherlock. He pinched the bridge between his eyes, turning away and suppressing a groan.  
"And I'm talking to a cat. Fantastic."

John braced himself as he opened his bedroom door, expecting about a hundred different messes to be cleaned. Everything looked the same as it always did, aside from the Siamese cat curled at the end of his bed. It woke, and looked over at him with an offended expression. John almost laughed. He went to his closet and tugged a jumper out at random. He could almost feel the cats eyes bore into his back.  
"Um, thanks for not destroying my bedroom." The cat flicked its tail slightly but otherwise remained still. John walked over and rubbed its back. It eyed him up, and then stretched out across the bed, releasing a sigh of content. John grinned.  
"I'll try and find you something to eat." He muttered, removing his hand as he moved to go downstairs. The cat let out a frustrated sounding 'merowf' and sat up abruptly, looking absolutely affronted now. John did laugh this time.  
"Try and be quiet, yeah? God knows Sherlock will probably smell cat on me, or see some fur or something, it's probably best he doesn't find out about you just yet." The cat's expression didn't change, but John was sure that if it had proper eyebrows, they would be raised in a condescending way. Now that it wasn't frozen it had serious attitude.  
"Talking to a cat. Right." John sighed, stepping out of his room and shutting the door behind him.

"Talking to yourself?" Sherlock asked bluntly as John entered the living room. Sherlock was sprawled on the sofa, dramatically as always. John wondered just what Sherlock had heard. Hopefully just mumbles, he had been talking quietly after all. But Sherlock had annoyingly good senses.  
"Not all of us have a companion skull to chat with." John responded simply. Sherlock merely grunted. John headed for the kitchen.  
"Do you want to eat?"  
"No."  
"Well, too bad. I'm making food and you're eating it. Or at least some of it. You haven't got any cases on so there's no reason to starve yourself." John vaguely heard something that resembled 'doctors'. He ignored it.

John tried to make room on the counter beside Sherlock's newest experiment. He had no idea was it was, but it seemed to involve custard and lots of it, as several cans littered every available surface of the kitchen. Lestrade hadn't had any new cases to occupy Sherlock's time, so John was left with a very bored Sherlock. This meant there were now 'experiments' all around the flat. John didn't mind as much as he complained. He stacked some cans of custard to the side to make room, and started his search for clean plates.

"John!"  
John jumped. That wasn't Sherlock's 'The flat's on fire again' voice, his 'come here and send a text' voice, or his 'you should probably get your gun out' voice. However it was definitely closest to the last one.  
John moved quickly.  
"You alrig- Oh."  
Sherlock had moved into a more normal position on the sofa, only now there was a very familiar Siamese cat sitting on his stomach.  
"John," Sherlock said again, a little more urgently.  
"There is a cat on me."

John felt a giggle bubbling up in his throat and he fought to keep himself silent. Trust Sherlock to say something that would normally be too obvious to point out otherwise from pure surprise. The cat. God, the cat. How the hell did it get out of his room? He thought back quickly and mentally cringed. The month before, Sherlock had, in a fit of excitement, barrelled though John's bedroom door rather than turning the knob like a normal human. Since then, the door had been difficult to close, and had the tendency to open unless you tugged until you heard the click. The click that John had forgotten to listen for.

So much for waiting to tell Sherlock about the cat. John couldn't help but take a little pleasure in Sherlock's current dumbstruck expression. He cleared his throat.  
"Yeah, about that. I brought home a cat."  
"You brought… _Why_?"  
"Because he's lost. It's cold. He would have frozen out there."  
"And you had to bring it here? Why?"  
"Beca- Right, what I just said? That's your answer again."  
"John..." Sherlock's voice was back its normal calculated tone, the surprised expression on his face now gone. He seemed to deem whatever he'd been about to say unnecessary and instead reached out a stupidly long bony finger to poke the cat. John suppressed another giggle before stepping forward and grabbing the cat from Sherlock's stomach, cuddling it into his own shoulder.  
"Look, it's lost. It's got a collar, so the owners will be looking for him. Tomorrow I'll make some calls, and I don't know- I'll put up a few flyers or something near where I found him."  
"Flyers, John?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows.  
"Yes. Flyers." John replied defensively, scratching the cat under the chin. It looked at him adoringly and started to purr. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  
"We can't have a cat."  
"It's not like I want to keep it forever. Just for a day, two at most. I'll keep him in my room, and you wont have to deal with him."  
"Because that method has been working so far."  
"Yes. Well. If you would have just used the handle like a normal person, maybe my door would still shut properly." Sherlock snorted in reply and stood. John tightened his arms protectively around the cat and dug in his heels. Metaphorically and literally.  
"With all I put up with, surely you can indulge me."  
"John,"  
"Last week! You had severed fingers in my favourite mug, Sherlock. _Human fingers_. In my _mug_."  
"John,"  
"The cat is staying."

Sherlock shut his mouth with a click. Then opened it right back up again in typical Sherlock fashion.  
"Mrs. Hudson will never allow it." He stated, as though that would be then end of it. John was now glad he had run into their landlady. He smiled.  
"Actually, I think she rather likes the little fella."  
"Rath-" Sherlock's indignant reply was interrupted by light knocking on their door.  
"Hello! Just me!" Mrs. Hudson called out as the door opened.  
"Mrs. Hudson! Perfect timing!" John exclaimed, sliding around Sherlock and over to the slightly safer side of the room where Mrs. Hudson now stood.  
"Oh, I see everyone is acquainted." She said with a cautious smile towards John after taking in Sherlock's stormy expression. John opened his mouth to respond but Sherlock was faster.  
"You're not actually permitting this Mrs. Hudson?"  
"Well… It's only for a day or so. And it is awfully cold out." She moved closer to John so she could start petting and cooing to the cat. John didn't try to hide his triumphant smile. Sherlock practically growled.  
"If you're not here to get rid of it what do you want?" He fumed. She jumped.  
"Oh! Yes! John, you know how I said that I had a cat before? Well I found her old litter box in the closet, with some litter." She gestured to the floor just outside of the door.  
"Not much left I'm afraid, but it's enough to get you through the night."  
"Mrs. Hudson that's great, thank you! Saves me going to the shops tonight."  
"I thought it might- Oh aren't you a darling!" She exclaimed as the cat flopped backwards in John's arms to expose his stomach, begging for attention.  
"What are you going to call him?" Mrs. Hudson asked, scratching the cats belly.  
"Well I'm going to try and get him home tomorrow, so no need to give him a name."  
"You have to call him something!" She insisted.

John looked towards Sherlock for input, but Sherlock was looking back at him with an expression that clearly showed just what he thought of the whole situation, so John instead looked around the flat for inspiration.  
"Um, how about…" His eyes fell on the union jack pillow. Jack? He toyed with the idea, bit generic of a name but it wasn't like it was permanent. His gaze shifted towards the kitchen, and the current epidemic of custard.  
Oh.  
Yes.

"Custard." He declared.  
"Custard?!" Sherlock almost sputtered.  
"Custard." Mrs. Hudson chuckled knowingly.  
"Custard." John repeated firmly towards Sherlock.  
"That's… John that's a ludicrous name for a cat."  
"Right, well, what would you name him then?"  
"I wouldn't."  
"There you go. Custard it is. 'Till we get him back to his family."

There was an awkward silence with Sherlock fuming and John trying not to be (too) smug. Mrs. Hudson glanced between them a few times before she finally sighed and rubbed her hands together.  
"Okay! I'd best be going. Goodnight boys. Goodnight Custard."  
Sherlock waited until the door shut behind her before rounding in on John again.  
"Custard? Really John?"  
"I did give you a chance to throw in a different name. What's with all the custard anyway? You don't even like the stuff. I don't mind it every now and again but-"  
"I wouldn't actually eat any of this if I were you."  
"Oh…Right. Um. Why?" Sherlock looked down at his shirtsleeve and gave a little shrug.  
"Do I even want to know?"  
"Probably not, no." John stared at Sherlock for a moment before deciding it wasn't worth the effort and let the subject drop. He turned his attention back to the cat in his arms.  
"Alright Custard, let's see if we can get you something to eat."

John put Custard on the floor and it meowed insistently at his legs. John tripped over him a few times as he searched the cupboards for something edible, and preferably not poisoned. After a bit of searching he found a dusty tin of tuna that seemed miraculously untouched with a few weeks left to the best before date.  
"I need that." Sherlock said from the doorway with a frown.  
"No you don't."  
"I do."  
"Shut up. You're just being mean to Custard." John enjoyed Sherlock's visible cringe. He cracked the tin and dumped it into what appeared to be a clean bowl. Custard's mewing became more frantic.  
"Yes, yes. It's alright, relax." He glanced up at Sherlock who was scowling at the cat that was now devouring the tuna.  
"Oh come on Sherlock, I'll buy you another one tomorrow if it's that important." Sherlock made a grunting noise of disgust in response and left the doorway. John realized he had won. The cat was staying. John allowed himself a moment to gloat.

With the cat fully engrossed in eating John used the opportunity to take the supplies Mrs. Hudson had lent him up to his room. He stole a glance at Sherlock as he passed by. Sherlock was back to being sprawled dramatically on the sofa and he was pouting. Honest to god pouting. He didn't look at John. And though he hated himself for it, John felt a little guilty. He paused.  
"Sherlock. He'll be gone by tomorrow. I promise." Sherlock only stared at the ceiling. John knew he would be ignored for a while after this.  
"Look, just think of it as some sort of experiment, yeah?" He sighed and headed for his bedroom. He was halfway up the stairs before he realized what he said. He groaned and turned back quickly.

Sherlock was half sitting up, looking mildly interested towards the kitchen when John stuck his head back into the living room.  
"That is not what I meant. Don't you dare experiment on the cat." Sherlock allowed him a small smirk before lying back down. John rubbed a palm against his forehead. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
